Teardrop
by demondreaming
Summary: I feel so useless, so helpless. She never cries when we stay up, she never does, and now she is and I feel like maybe I haven't done enough. Maybe I didn't make her laugh enough, maybe I didn't hug her enough. Maybe I have no effect at all. Cori, rated T.


**Disclaimer: Victorious doesn't belong to me, and I should really stop telling people it does.**

/

I sit back with a groan, exhaustion throbbing at the edges of my brain. "I can't believe I just posted that."

Cat giggles beside me, a pirate hat perched on her ruby hair. Every time she sleeps over, she somehow convinces me to stay up way past the point where I can think straight, and that's usually around the time_ The Funny Nugget Show_ happens. The next morning it's like waking up with a hangover, even more so when I go back to watch the video. It's just all giggling and weird voices and hugging. I'm always hugging her.

I'm not even sure what we did in this video, but Cat's hand is still on my knee, and I've still got the echo of her laughter in my ear, where her breath tickled me. At least doing these videos so late means that no one's usually on when we post them. Not that many people see them, or if they do, they keep quiet about it. It's not so much that I mind people seeing them, I mean, I'm an actress, being humiliated is part of the job description. It's just… it makes it feel more like this is ours. Like we're not making it for other people, we're making it for us. Like I'm making it for Cat.

She tells me that she watches them all the time, that they help her get to sleep some nights. They make her smile. I guess that's worth a hangover in the morning.

The thing about Cat sleeping over is… I never ask her to. The first time was the only time. I get home and Cat's waiting for me, sometimes, chatting animatedly with my mom about me, about my grades, about what I did in class that day. My mom just treats her like family now. It's funny, really, how Cat's crept into our lives. She did it so slowly, so sweetly, that it's only when my bed is empty that I notice how odd that feels. How wrong it feels to not have her there, warm beside me. Cat's like a magician; she'll use her eyes, her lips, her hands to distract you, so that you never even notice the trick she's pulled until you realise she's sawed you right in half.

I don't mind though. She always puts me back together afterwards.

Cat sleeps like a baby. And by that, I mean she wakes up crying. Not always, not even all that often, or maybe I just don't wake up every time. It worries me to think that I might sleep through it. That I might be tossing and turning while Cat's shivering and sobbing. She tries to be quiet, to tug her knees up and pull her hands into her stomach, like there's some throbbing pain there. We don't ever talk about it. It could be nightmares. Cat's got a vivid imagination. Or it could be the reason why she sleeps over here so much. The first time it happened, the first time I woke up to a muffled hiccup, I just lay there, limbs frozen. I kept my breath tight in my chest and I waited. I waited for her to roll over to face me, to climb out of bed and run off, to just do something I could respond to, something else besides that soft shaking. But she didn't. She stopped eventually, and then her shadowed shoulders relaxed, and she drifted off back to sleep. She woke me up in the next morning with a bright smile on her face.

The next time, I held her.

It felt right to. It was better than just lying there, pretending like I was asleep when we both knew I wasn't. It felt like maybe I was holding her together, like whatever nightmare was in her head could be killed if only I held her tight enough. She smiles so brightly all the time, she bounces around and she claps her hands and more than anything, she's happy. She's like a ray of sunshine, and it doesn't feel right when her brightness is obscured. I hate to see her eclipsed.

That's why I stay up so late with her. Not because we lose track of time (although we do), but because the longer she's awake, the happier I make her, the less likely she is to huddle up into that shuddering ball. I see how much she smiles when I stay up with her, how she grins from ear to ear, dimples deep in her cheeks. She laughs more, she hugs me more. She's everything more, and she makes me more too. I watch those videos in the morning, and we're crazy, we're stupid, but we're also unbelievably happy. It's the only time I'm ever that happy, and I think it's the same for her. When we finally go to bed, limbs clumsy and eyelids heavy, she falls asleep almost instantly, a little smile still on her face. She doesn't dream then, or if she does, they're good ones.

I hold her anyway.

It might've started as just a way to comfort her, but now it's something that makes me feel better too. She's so warm, so soft. I can feel her heart pulse against me, feel the rise and fall of her breath, smell the scent of my shampoo in her hair. She's white noise, calming, soothing, and she helps me get to sleep. And when that constant static turns discordant, I hold her tight, I twist and fiddle with her dials until she's calm again. She's something I adjusted to, and now she's something that I need. She's a drug I didn't even know I was taking, and now I'm addicted.

Cat falls back onto the sofa with a sigh, hands resting on her stomach. She's wearing pink button up pyjamas, cupcakes dotted over the material. Mine are blue, covered in clouds. We picked them out together, or, more accurately, Cat dragged me into a store and demanded we get them. They're the kind of pyjamas kids wear, and I guess it's fitting, because that's how we act in them. We act like we're five again, kicking and screaming and laughing and just… just not thinking. Maybe that's what I love about Cat. I can say whatever I want, and she doesn't look at me like I'm strange. She never calls me immature, she never tells me to grow up. When I'm with her, on these late nights, it's like being a kid again. It's like being free, and she's the only person I can really be that with.

Cat's eyebrows furrow down slightly, fingers twitching on her belly. "I think I ate too much icecream." She says dreamily, staring at the ceiling.

I shut my laptop, lifting the askew pirate hat off her head and setting it on the coffee table. "Cat… you didn't eat that icecream, you drank it."

Cat props herself up, grinning. "That's because icecream soup is the best!"

"You put gummi bears in it."

"They're like the vegetables." Cat pouts, and I know that if I touched her hands, they'd be sticky and sweet. Just like her mouth would be.

"They're just sugar and gelatin and food dye! They're about as far from vegetables as you can get!"

"That's exactly where I want to be!" Cat beams, shuffling up into a sitting position.

I grin. "Oh yeah? I happen to have a photo of you dressed as broccoli that begs to differ."

"That was different!" Cat protests. "I didn't have to eat me."

"I ate you at dinner." I smirk. "And you were delicious."

Cat gasps, pushing at my shoulder, before falling back and letting her legs swing up onto my lap. "Why would you eat me, Tor?"

"You're part of a balanced diet." I tease, prodding her knee with a finger.

Cat giggles before yawning widely, legs wriggling on my lap as she squeaks. It's the most adorable yawn I've ever seen. The yawn that comes out of me is long and ugly and twists my mouth into some weird shape, but when my eyes open Cat's smiling at me regardless. "I think," I say slowly, licking my lips. "I _think_ it's time we went to bed."

Cat pouts, eyebrows turning up. "But Tori!"

"Cat, it's starting to get light outside. My parents are probably gonna be up soon. Or worse, Trina will." I shudder at the thought. Trina likes to wear these moisturising masks or something to bed. I'm not quite sure what they are, but they're bright green and terrifying.

"'Kay 'kay." Cat clambers off me, bouncing over to the foot of the stairs. I don't know how she still has so much energy. My only way of movement at this point is to swing myself forward and try to not fall. I drag myself up the stairs after the buoyant Cat. Part of me can't wait to watch that video tomorrow. To see Cat's grin. To remember how those hugs felt and how that laughter hurt my lungs and how her fingertips gripped my shoulders.

Cat brushes her teeth to a rhythm. Left, left, right, right and then all around. She does it differently every time. I've started keeping a toothbrush here for her. She doesn't always remember to bring one, and I know she hates that 'icky' feeling on her teeth. Sometimes I try to guess what song she's singing in her head based on the pattern. I just swoosh the toothbrush around until my tongue burns from the mint and my teeth feel all glossy. We go to spit at the same time, Cat's forehead bumping mine. I wince, and she giggles, white froth around her mouth and it should be embarrassing, but Cat takes that poison away from it. It's just funny, and I have to spit otherwise I'd choke from laughing, or worse, spray toothpaste everywhere.

When we get into bed, Cat's quiet, turned away from me. I figure the exhaustion's finally hit her. You can only get so much energy from candy before it burns itself out. I wiggle in next to her, letting out a quiet sigh as my muscles relax against the soft mattress. I sling an arm around her waist, loose. Just in case she needs it.

I'm almost asleep, the smell of her coconut shampoo in every breath, when she speaks. "Tor?"

I force my eyes open. "Mmm?" It's bright enough to see now, light filtering in through my thin curtains. It's that cold sort of morning light, pure and white. It doesn't hold any warmth.

"I never..." Cat's voice is slow and wandering, barely above a whisper. "I never thank you."

I stifle a yawn, trying to pay attention. "Thank me for what?"

Her hand finds mine where it rests against her stomach, fingers entwining gently. "For this." She squeezes my hand, taking a deep breath, her back brushing against me. "You keep all the bad stuff away."

I don't know how to respond to that. I can't show her the twisting in my chest, the weight on my lungs. I can't tell her that what I do is as much for me as it is for her now. I find something to say finally, words uneven. I don't have the energy to keep them steady. "I never thank you either, Cat. These sleepovers... they make me happier than I've ever been. Ever." And suddenly a shuddering urge rises in me, and I press my lips to her clothed shoulder, just briefly. It feels right. Everything I do with her feels right.

Her breath hitches for just a moment, but she doesn't say a thing. I can't see her face, can't see anything beyond the ruby streaks of her hair. She keeps her fingers joined with mine, and I try to stay awake, to keep a watch on her until I feel her relax, until her breathing slows and she slips away, but I can't. I'm too exhausted, and the last thing I remember is my face against her shoulder, pink pyjama material warm from her skin against my cheek.

She's shaking.

I wake up and she's shaking, and this never happens, this _never _happens. A spike of panic shoots through me, sends my heart racing, and I go from a dead sleep to being more awake than I've ever been. She never cries when we stay up, she never does. She takes a quick, trembling breath, and I pull her closer, I press myself to her as tightly as I can. The room's bright, and I don't know how long I've been asleep, but it couldn't have been long. Was she waiting for me? Was she waiting until she felt my fingers loosen in hers, was she holding it in even then?

I feel so useless, so helpless. She never cries when we stay up, she never does, and now she is and I feel like maybe I haven't done enough. Maybe I didn't make her laugh enough, maybe I didn't hug her enough, maybe she's always waited for me to fall asleep before she starts. That thought's the worst one of all. That I really have no effect at all.

"Cat? Cat, what's wrong?" It's the first time I've ever asked, and I don't know if I even expect an answer. "Please look at me. Cat?" I press my lips to her shoulder again, desperate, and she stiffens. And I'm not sure if it's just an exhaled breath or if she says my name.

She turns slowly, shuffling onto her back, and the light that pours into the room strokes along her face, sends the wet streaks on her cheeks shining. Then she's facing me and the tracks are almost invisible, swiped away by shadow, by the back of her hand. She smiles, but her lips are trembling, and it falls apart with her next breath. "I'm sorry Tor. Did I wake you up?"

I shake my head. "Don't say sorry. Don't be sorry. Just... just tell me what to do. Tell me how to help. Please?" My hand finds her cheek, and the skin is flushed and wet and soft, and it's like she's melting under my fingertips, slipping away. She must taste like salt.

"You are helping. You always help, Tor." She smiles again, and this one's a little stronger, a little surer.

"I'm sorry, Cat."

Cat's eyebrows dig down. "For what?"

"That I don't know what to do." My mind is racing, but it's jumbled and fractured, and nothing is where it's supposed to be. I'm still so tired, too tired to think straight. The only thing working is my heart, and it's beating harder and harder. I stroke her cheek with a thumb, eyes running over her face, and if only I could make her smile again. If I only I could take that hurt from her, whatever it is, and stomp it down and crush it and stop it from ever causing her pain again. I prefer Cat when she's shining. I want to clear those overcast clouds away from her, rip up anything that could cause a shadow. I want to hold her until she stops hurting. I want to make her feel the way she makes me feel. I want to make her happy, to make her heart race and her chest ache and her stomach throb. I want to do to her what she does to me, every time she hugs me. Every time she laughs. Every time she smiles. I want to make her love me, like I love her.

Her lips are soft, and she doesn't taste like salt at all. She tastes like toothpaste, but sweeter. She tastes like me, but better. And this isn't like a first kiss with a boy. This isn't nervousness and adrenaline and _want want want_. My lips don't crash into hers, it isn't hard and rushed and awkward. It's the kiss I laid on her shoulder, transferred. It's slow, and it's sweet, and I push everything I feel into it. I push everything I don't have the words for, everything my brain is too mangled to express. I push that happiness she gives me, I push that laughter, that freedom into it. I put the nights I've stayed awake beside her into it. I put every time I've held her into it, every twist my heart has made for her. I put it all in until we're overflowing, breaking apart to sip in a breath.

Cat licks her lips, pink tongue darting out. "You knew what to do." Her voice is soft with surprise, and for a moment I think she was trying to lead me to this, but that's not Cat's style. She doesn't play coy. I don't know if it's what she wanted, but she's not pulling away. She's not crying anymore.

"I'm sorry." It feels like the thing to say. I can't explain why I did it. Why I'd do it again. It feels like holding her does; like something that could become an addiction, a necessity to help me sleep.

Cat just gives her head a little shake, like me apologising is ridiculous. "I'm okay now, Tor. You can go back to sleep." She gives me a tiny reassuring smile, and what's more, she gives me a tiny reassuring kiss. Barely a brush, but enough to steal my breath. She licks her lips again, glancing down. "Tor... can I..." Her chocolate eyes flick to mine. "Can I hold you this time?"

For all this time, I've thought that I'm the one protecting her. Holding her, staying up with her. But she protected me too. She waited until I was asleep, until I was exhausted, until her tears wouldn't wake me up.

I turn away from her, taking a deep breath, and when Cat's arm steals around my waist it's warm, and solid, and she feels a lot less fragile than I know she is. I link my fingers with hers, and it seems like there should be so much more to say, so much more to explain and worry about and stumble over. There's so much more to deal with, but my brain is too frazzled and my heart is too heavy to handle it right now. Kissing her felt right. Holding her felt right, and having her hold me feels right as well. This is Cat, the girl I never have to explain myself to, and maybe that makes all this okay. Maybe there doesn't have to be an explanation.

"You make me happy, Tor."

Her lips touch my shoulder gently.

/

**A/N: This is for the lovely Rafa.**

**Originally this story wasn't mean to be quite so... well, melancholy, but things have a funny habit of turning that way for me. I hope it was still enjoyable, and I'm awful sorry if it wasn't.**

**It's been a funny sort of day.**

**Reviews are always appreciated. If I collect enough, I can papier mache it into a person AND I CAN FINALLY BE HELD AMONG OTHER THINGS. DON'T YOU READERS WANT ME TO BE HAPPY?**

**Oh but imagine what an awkward papercut that would be.**


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